


only gold (is hot enough)

by littlesnowpea



Series: baby maybe (i'm a piece of art) [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Best Ink AU, M/M, Reality TV, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: Pete couldn’t believe he was here.Even now, with just two ink challenges to go before the final, Pete could still hardly believe he’d lasted this long. Patrick had all the faith in the world Pete might actually win, and he had since the beginning, and now Pete kind of saw his point."Told you," Patrick had replied when Pete had texted him this basically verbatim. He was the worst boyfriend ever, but Pete adored him.





	only gold (is hot enough)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> like jesus himself, i have risen from the grave to save mankind
> 
> (i'm mostly kidding)
> 
> i know best ink has been on hiatus for a million years just pretend it hasn't okay
> 
> what else can i say about this? how about "i'm sorry"?

Pete took a flying leap and landed hard on his and Patrick’s bed.

“I made it!” he cheered loudly, and Patrick groaned. 

“God, fuck you,” he mumbled. “I was asleep, you absolute asshole.”

“I mean, we could,” Pete smirked. Patrick lifted his head enough to blearily glare at him. “But that’s not the point. I made it!”

“God,” Patrick said again. “Made what? Hurry up and tell me so I can go back to sleep.”

“It’s nine,” Pete complained. Patrick glared again. “Fine. Best Ink.”

“Best Ink what?” Patrick said, not his best in the morning. He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You did not make it onto Best Ink.”

“Thanks for the confidence, babe,” Pete muttered darkly. 

“You know what I mean,” Patrick sighed. “They don’t like the gays, Pete.”

“They like this gay,” Pete said proudly. “I just got the call.”

“So it’s for real?” Patrick asked, and he sounded much more excited, just like Pete knew he would be. Patrick didn’t have tattoos and didn’t want them, but it didn’t even matter. Patrick still loved and appreciated Pete’s art anyway, and that made him the best part of Pete’s entire life. “You’re gonna win me a hundred grand?”

“Win _you?_ ” Pete said, with a rather convincing air of disbelief if he said so himself. “It’ll be me doing the tattoos, princess.”

“You don’t treat me nice enough to be a princess,” Patrick complained, and Pete grinned.

“Wait until I win,” he said, grabbing Patrick’s hips and yanking him underneath Pete’s weight. “You won’t even know what your old life was like.”

“You’re gonna be gone like, a million years,” Patrick said sadly. “What will I do to remember you?”

“I’d better give you something to think about,” Pete said, and Patrick laughed even as Pete sank his teeth into Patrick’s neck.

\---

Pete was fucking nervous, alright? Yeah, he’d been tattooing for years and he had pretty strong confidence in his work now, but there were eleven other artists who were also good and he had to pit his art against theirs. On TV.

He shifted from foot to foot as he watched the other artists. He bet it would take him forever to learn their names, but then again, some wouldn’t be around long enough to matter. 

“No enough women here,” someone said from around his left elbow. He blinked in surprise and looked down.

“I agree,” he said belatedly. Then, because he wasn’t about to be closeted for any part of this competition: “Not enough gay artists here, either.”

“Also agree,” the woman said. She had red and blue hair braided back, and her hands were on her hips as she surveyed the crowd. “I’m Hayley.”

“Pete,” Pete introduced. “Did you also annoy your boyfriend to death once you got accepted?”

“Don’t have one,” Hayley shrugged. “My mom never heard the end of it, though.”

“My husband threatened to divorce me,” someone else chimed in, and both Pete and Hayley turned to face them. To Pete’s unending surprise, it was another guy. He had sunglasses on--Pete resisted the urge to point out that they were inside--and Pete was willing to be he had the most tattoos of any artist there. 

“I bet my boyfriend wanted to leave at one point,” Pete joked. “But he’s stuck with me. I’m Pete.”

“Andy,” the guy said. “Really nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Pete said, unable to help how honest he sounded. God. One more gay guy would make everything so much easier when the homophobia inevitably began. Pete was surprised Best Ink picked two gay artists, but not surprised enough to question it.

“Who’s gonna leave first?” Hayley whispered, making Andy and Pete crack identical grins. 

“Dude with the grills,” Andy offered. 

“Definitely,” Pete agreed, and felt his spirits lift a little. 

Maybe Patrick was right. Maybe he could do this. 

\---

Six weeks in and Pete’s confidence was a lot stronger than it had been at the beginning. 

Yeah, being in the bottom three on the very first challenge was completely the opposite of ideal, but after a long phone call with Patrick that was actually just Patrick reassuring him for an hour straight, Pete pulled himself back together and won the next two ink challenges in a row. 

Also, Andy was right. Guy with the grills, aka Shane, went home first. Pete failed to see how that guy even got on to begin with.

“Photorealism,” Andy said, and Pete rolled his eyes. 

“You say photorealism every single week,” he pointed out, then threw his cards in the center of the table. “I’m done.”

“You _suck_ at poker,” Hayley complained, as if she didn’t suck just as much. “I’m out, too.”

“I win,” Travie said. “Again.”

“If only you’d win an ink challenge,” Andy said. 

“Maybe if Pete started sucking, I would,” Travie said, taking a long drink of his off-brand soda and burping loudly. “Four ink challenges in a row is practically obnoxious. Anyway. It’s not gonna be photorealism, Andy, expand your horizons.”

“I suck at photorealism,” Andy said. 

“You suck at everything,” Pete lied. “At any rate, I don't think it'd be photorealism. That ship has sailed.”

“What’s it gonna be, then?” Hayley asked. 

“Something God awful,” Andy muttered as the producer clapped his hands. 

“We’re going live in 2 minutes!” he shouted. Pete barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The producer was an annoying scrawny dude with perpetually greasy hair. He always wore headphones that were far too large for him, _Call of Duty_ logo faded and peeling from the sides. 

He was also uppity and egotistical, making it clear that he considered the show below whatever pay grade he envisioned himself deserving. Pete also could never remember his stupid name. 

He saw Gerard out of the corner of his eye, reading over the script. Pete liked Gerard--he was wild, kind of crazy, but he sort of reminded Pete of Brendon. Brendon was one of Patrick’s worshippers--Patrick had taught the kid piano when he was sixteen and the kid clung to him for five more years. Brendon grew on a person, for the most part. Either that or Pete had a serious case of Stockholm syndrome.

Anyway, Gerard had a personality like Brendon’s--perfect for hosting. He also seemed to genuinely love tattoos and most of the artists, despite having absolutely none himself. He was cheesy to the point of nausea sometimes, but Pete would take that over What’s-His-Name with the headphones any day. 

Pete was brought back to the present as the remaining six artists were herded together in front of the cameras. Pete cleared his throat, straightened the shirt Patrick loved, and braced himself. Just like every time the cameras were about to roll, he wished Patrick was there so Pete could hold his hand. Patrick’s fingers were calloused from the guitar and drums he played every day for Soul Punk Studios, and just imagining them calmed Pete down. 

Patrick believed in him. Pete knew he did. 

“Action!” what’s-his-name called, and Gerard visibly fell into character. 

“Hey there final six!” he said, and, on cue, the artists cheered. Literally. It was a cue behind Gerard, out of sight of the cameras. “As you know, we started with twelve of you badasses. Now we’ve cut you in half--metaphorically. So it’s time to really put you to the test. You have two skins each today, who both want complementary tattoos to show off their bond. Your skins have been chosen at random, and you won’t know their stories until consultations. So what are you waiting for? You have an hour to consult. And it starts right now!”

Pete took a deep breath. 

He could still do this.

\---

“Hi guys,” Pete said, pasting on his most cheerful smile. The camera permanently following him was as unnerving as ever, but he knew if anything truly embarrassing happened, they would probably cut it out. “My name’s Pete, I’m your artist today. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves?”

“Hi,” the girl introduced. She had a wide smile and sparkling eyes, and Pete would find her super pretty if he didn’t miss Patrick half as much as he did. Her black hair was back neatly in a bun and she was sitting next to the other person Pete guessed he was tattooing. 

“Hi,” the guy added, but he sounded considerably less enthusiastic. He was looking at Pete with a look Pete couldn’t quite describe, lips twisted into something resembling a sneer. “You’re a tattoo artist?”

“Yep,” Pete said, voice falsely bright. “At least, I hope so. What can I design for you?”

“Me and Jon have been together for five years,” the girl gushed, either not catching onto the weird tension Jon had emanating off him or just not caring. “And we just wanted something that made sure people knew we were each other’s, right, honey?”

“Yep,” Jon said, lips snapping on the p. “True commitment.”

Pete felt very uncomfortable. 

“Cool,” Pete said anyway. “I love commitment tattoos. Do you have elements you absolutely have to have?”

“We both love the rebel flag,” Jon said, and Pete hoped his face didn’t show how far his heart sank. “Ashlee loves it more. It would be cool to have that in there.”

“Right,” Pete said. “That’s cool. So I’m guessing Ashlee would prefer something more feminine and you’d prefer the opposite?”

“Right,” Jon said. Pete still felt uncomfortable. “Have you done these before?”

“What, commitment tattoos?” Pete asked, thrown for a loop. “Of course. I have one myself--although the match isn’t on skin, it’s on my wall at home.”

“Girlfriend doesn’t like tattoos?” Ashlee asked, and Pete swallowed. 

“No,” he said, and, for the first time, he didn’t correct the gender. 

“Some girlfriend,” Jon snorted, and Pete felt a flash of white hot anger before his mouth ran off without permission. 

“The best person in my entire life,” he snapped, and Jon blinked in surprise. “I’ll get started on the designs. Make yourself comfortable.”

With that, Pete stood and walked to the drawing table, hoping his fury wasn’t completely all over his face. Patrick would probably be disappointed in him for exploding like that, so he looked at the camera with a wry grin. 

“Sorry, babe,” he said, and the cameraman snorted. “I love you too much.”

 _Gross_ , the cameraman mouthed, and Pete smirked before turning back to his tracing paper and remembering the awful design he had to make. 

He sucked in a deep breath and got to work.

\---

“Oh my gosh!” Ashlee squealed, once Pete had presented the designs. Jon raised an eyebrow, and Pete took that as a sign he was impressed. “These are perfect!”

“I’m glad you like them,” Pete lied through his teeth. He’d done his best to minimize the Confederate flag as much as he could, but it was still too present for his liking, really. He finished cleaning Ashlee’s arm--she would be first, which was good, because Pete could get her done far quicker than Jon. 

“I’m so excited!” Ashlee gushed. “Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” Pete managed. 

“Artists!” Gerard shouted as Pete smoothed the stencil on. “You have four hours to complete both tattoos. No pressure. On your mark, get set, go!”

Pete dipped the needle in the ink and got to work, narrowing everything down to the tattoo in front of him and the task at hand. It didn’t matter that Pete would rather walk off a cliff than ever do this design again, it just mattered that he had to do it right now. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made in the name of art or one hundred grand.

Unfortunately, Ashlee evidently liked small talk. She lasted two thirds of the way through her tattoo _before_ she started chattering, but she still chattered Pete’s damn ear off.

“You’re so good at this!” she said, and Pete bit back a sarcastic _no way_ he wanted to let loose. As if one of the final six artists on Best Ink was _bad_. “I can’t believe your girlfriend won’t let you tattoo her. Like, I know a lot of girls don’t think they’re ladylike but it’s different if it’s a symbol of your love. She should really support you.”

“I am supported,” Pete said evenly. “And I’ve drawn so many things for our walls at home. All of them mean _I love you_. It doesn’t hurt my feelings that he doesn’t want a tattoo. I’d rather him be happy than for my ego to be stroked. So to speak.”

“He?” Jon said, loudly and abruptly, just as Pete finished Ashlee’s tattoo. Pete sat up, wiping across the fresh ink carefully, before meeting Jon’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Pete said evenly. “He. My boyfriend. You’re done, Ashlee. Let me just switch needles and gloves and clean up and I can start on Jon’s.”

“No,” Jon said, and Pete froze. Jon’s voice was loud, causing an actual hush to fall over the studio. Slowly, half the cameras turned on them as the skins and some artists very obviously watched the drama unfold. 

“I have to do your tattoo,” Pete said calmly. “You signed a contract to be here.”

“I didn’t sign a contract to be touched by a fag,” Jon spat, grabbing Ashlee’s arm. Pete felt every word like a bullet to his heart. He barely refrained from taking an actual step back, like Jon’s words were physical blows. “Or for my girlfriend to be, either. I don’t want fucking AIDS. You should have told us before you started.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” Pete said. He was mostly proud of how composed he still sounded. “And you liked the designs just fine before you found anything out about me. I need to finish the challenge, and that includes tattooing you.”

“Babe,” Ashlee said softly. “Babe, it’s not a big deal, just sit dow--”

“It is a big deal,” Jon spat. “It is. It’s bad enough the Supreme Court decided it was okay for fucking faggots to live together. They shouldn’t be anywhere near normal people. They definitely shouldn’t be able to do this shit. It’s disgusting. I don’t know what you have.”

“I have nothing,” Pete said. He felt tears in the back of his throat--fuck. This shouldn’t fucking bother him. He was a grown man, he was proud of himself, he loved Patrick and would love Patrick until he fucking died--but shit, that did hurt. 

It hurt _bad._ Pete was almost shaking in combined fury and embarrassment and heartache. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not even as Jon all but yanked Ashlee off the bench and out of the studio. He couldn’t say _anything_.

Fuck. This would air on TV, and people would watch him be screamed at and walked out on, they would watch Pete unable to defend himself. _Patrick_ would watch this, he would see it and see every last fear of his be realized. 

The tattoo world wasn’t kind to gay people, Pete knew that, but this had never happened before. 

And now it had happened on national TV. 

He turned his back on the cameras for a moment, trying to regain some form of composure, trying to shove tears back down his throat. He was just succeeding when someone spoke. 

“How about you stop filming this?” Hayley snapped. Just like that, the silent bubble in the studio broke. Pete heard murmuring and muttering and even a tattoo machine start up.“How about you focus on us? You got enough, for fuck’s sake.”

From the next stall over, Pete heard Andy’s voice, slow, measured, the way he always was. 

“I’m gay, too,” he said, probably to his skin. “If that’s a problem, go ahead and leave.”

“Not a problem,” the skin said, sounding completely honest. “I can’t believe that happened. Dude. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Pete managed. “I’m just going to clean up.”

Pete took a deep breath and forced himself to move. 

\----

Patrick’s contact picture was still open on Pete’s screen. He’d been staring at it for the better part of an hour, debating on calling Patrick at all. 

He didn’t really want to tell Patrick. Well, he would have to eventually, when the show aired, and that segment inevitably caused an uproar. And it was probably better to do it over the phone rather than when he got sent home during eliminations for having an unfinished tattoo.

He didn’t think he could bear looking into Patrick’s soft eyes and telling him this nightmare. He didn’t want to see the hurt look cross Patrick’s face, didn’t want Patrick to worry over him any more than he already did. 

But he also didn’t want Patrick to learn about it any other way. 

He pressed _call_.

Three rings seemed endless until finally, _finally,_ Patrick picked up.

“Heya, Pete!”

Or not.

“Hi, Bren,” Pete said, fighting a smile despite the bullshit of the entire day. “Why do you have my boyfriend’s phone?”

“He’s listening to my thesis,” Brendon said. “It’s very important that he not be distracted.”

“How many times today has he listened to it?” Pete asked. 

“Once,” Brendon said. Pete stayed silent until Brendon sighed. “Okay, twice. But I need his help.”

“Can he be interrupted this once?” Pete asked, and Brendon groaned theatrically. “You can make him listen to it two more times.”

“Fineeeee,” Brendon said, drawing out the word. “I’ll get him. Will you listen to it?”

“I don’t know anything about music, Bren, but sure.”

“Thanks,” Brendon said, and Pete heard the telltale sounds of Brendon tossing the phone to the couch and invading Patrick’s home studio. Whatever Brendon said was muffled, but it must have worked, because three seconds later relief hit Pete like a tsunami.

“Hey, Pete,” Patrick said softly, and Pete had to fight hard to keep a sob from escaping.

“Hey, Pats,” Pete managed, but he sounded awful.

“Pete,” Patrick said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m coming home,” Pete said, and Patrick made a soft sound of regret.

“Aw, shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Fuck,” Pete said, sounding a bit strangled. “I didn’t get to finish the challenge because my skin walked out.”

“Oh, fuck,” Patrick said. “That’s completely fucked up. They’re sending you home for that?”

“Well, I don’t know yet,” Pete said. “But I’m pretty sure. The design wasn’t great to begin with.”

“That would be ridiculous,” Patrick said. He sounded righteously angry. Pete was not ready to break the news to him. “Why’d they leave?”

Pete sighed shakily. 

“Don’t get mad,” he said.

“Why would I get mad?” Patrick asked. 

“They left because I’m gay,” Pete said, and he heard Patrick’s sharp intake of breath loud and clear. 

“Fuck,” Patrick said. “Oh, fuck, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You’re not mad?” Pete whispered.

“I’m furious,” Patrick said. “But never at you. That must have been so hard, Pete. Oh fuck. Did they film it?”

“‘Course,” Pete mumbled. “My finest moment.”

“I could punch them,” Patrick said. “I really, really could. Babe. I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there.”

“I wish you could, too,” Pete said. His voice was hoarse. 

“Go away,” Patrick said, and Pete guessed he was talking to Brendon. “I’ll call you later, beat it.”

Pete heard a door slam and took a shuddering breath. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Patrick said softly. “It is. It would be bullshit for you to be sent home over this, but if you do, I’m still so fucking proud of you.”

“I love you,” Pete said shakily. 

“I love you, too,” Patrick said. “So, so much. When’s judging?”

“Like, an hour,” Pete said. 

“Want me to sing to you?” Patrick asked. 

“Yeah,” Pete said, and shut his eyes.

\---

Pete actually did feel a lot more centered by the time he met the other artists in the lobby. Even though the challenge had been the definition of a living hell, hearing Patrick’s voice solved everything. For the most part. 

Pete thought it definitely would be bullshit to send him home just because he didn’t get to finish. If they did, they did, but Pete thought it was ridiculous. He knew he was a better artist than that, and he hoped they did, too. 

And Patrick was proud of him, so everything was okay. At least, he kept telling himself that as he took deep breaths, waiting to be let into the judging room. Everything was okay. Everything was okay. Pete was _not_ going to freak out once the judges asked questions. 

“Hey, Pete,” Andy said, bumping his shoulder against Pete’s. Pete took a shaky breath. “That was completely fucked up. Like, I don’t even have words. I’ve never seen shit like that.”

Pete shrugged one shoulder, giving Hayley and Travis his best, albeit a bit watery, smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Hayley said gently. “Really. They can’t send you home, we’re gonna argue for you.”

“Don’t jeopardize yourselves,” Pete objected, and Travie shook his head.

“Dude,” he said. “It was completely gross. It would be a crime to send you home.”

Pete took another deep breath. He very deliberately did not notice the way the other two artists were very clearly avoiding him. It was fine. It didn’t _matter._

“Get ready to walk!” Nameless Producer bellowed, and Pete rolled his shoulders in a mostly futile attempt to throw off some of the stress, and got in his usual place in line between the other two artists, Ryan and Bob. Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Pete, one eyebrow raised, before meeting Bob’s eyes. 

“Thought that would happen sooner,” Bob said snidely. “Glad we’ll be kissing you goodbye then, faggot.”

Pete forced himself to ignore him, focusing only on his feet and every step he took until he was on his marked spot on the risers, facing the judges again. His heart rate rose dramatically and he bet his cheeks were red. 

“Artists,” Gerard said. “The judges will now take this opportunity to evaluate your work. First up is Hayley.”

Much as he cared about his friends, Pete tuned out the critiques. Hayley’s tattoos were lovely, but they always were. Pete was willing to bet money Joe Capobianco would call them “too feminine”, which was his usual criticism of Hayley. Pete stared at his shoes, replaying Patrick’s soft voice singing to him until he felt like maybe he could breathe again. 

“Pete,” Gerard said, and Pete looked back up. He saw the monitor displaying the finished tattoo and Pete’s drawing that would have gone on Jon, and his heart pounded erratically. “Your skins wanted a tattoo to represent five years together. But I understand things did not go as planned.”

As if Gerard somehow didn’t know exactly what had happened. Pete swallowed. 

“Not exactly, no,” Pete said, proud of the way his voice didn’t crack even once. Joe’s face was impassive. “They walked out.”

“It happens,” Joe said. “At least you got to do one, so we’re going to focus on that for the most part. It’s a solid tattoo, man. Just like every week, you gave us bold lines, saturation, a clean design, and pure artistic talent. I got that these were unpleasant people even before the blowup, but you gave them exactly what they asked for despite it all. Focusing on your drawing, it’s hard to say. It looks good. Would have loved to see it on skin, but what can you do?”

“I love this piece, Pete,” Sabina said, lacing her fingers over her crossed legs. “I love all your pieces, but this impresses me outside of the actual art. Had this happened to me, I’m not sure I could have remained as professional as you did.”

“I would have decked them,” Joe laughed. 

“I would have cussed them out,” Hannah added. “But you didn’t. You remained courteous and disciplined, even in the face of absolutely outrageous abuse. I commend you for that. And the one that you got to do--technically, it’s perfect.”

“Thank you very much,” Pete said. 

“The judges have chosen their top three this week,” Gerard said, because obviously the judges had already decided absolutely everything, but this made for better TV. “If I call your name, please step forward. The first artist is Andy.”

Pete grinned at Andy as he stepped forward. Good for him.

“The second artist the judges would like to step forward is Hayley,” Gerard continued, and Pete’s grin widened. 

“The third artist the judges would like to step forward is Pete,” Gerard said, and Pete’s jaw nearly dropped in surprise. “Yeah, you, Pete. Get down here.”

Pete did as he was told, joining Andy and Hayley, who high-fived him. Pete was grinning, now, he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t going home. Top three never went home. 

Gerard launched into all the reasons the three of them were chosen, but Pete didn’t care. He heard _integrity_ and _professionalism_ around his name, but he was on cloud fucking nine. 

He was still here.

He wasn’t going home. 

_Suck_ it, Jon. 

“Of course, there can only be one winner,” Hannah said, just like she said every week. “And this week’s winner is….Pete.”

Pete’s eyes widened. He felt like he’d been sucker punched in the throat. Hayley hugged him, grinning hard, and Andy and Travie clapped for him. 

Finally, after what felt like a million years, _finally,_ Pete managed to speak. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“Their bigotry bit them in the ass,” Joe said. “This would have been a killer tattoo to have. Congrats.”

“Thank you,” Pete said again. 

\---

Pete’s luck was on the biggest uphill climb since the competition began. He blew through abstract week, claiming top three again (though he lost the number one title to Travie) and now he was in the final four. Final fucking four. 

He followed the others off their bus, blinking against the sudden sunshine. The inside of the photo studio their producer ushered them into was a welcome relief from the brightness outside, even if the mere idea of a photo studio made Pete’s heart sink. 

One look at Andy and he knew Andy felt the same--fucking photorealism, it had to be. 

“It’s not photorealism,” Gerard said, and Pete shook himself. He’d forgotten they were already filming. “So cheer up. This flash challenge should actually be a breeze for you guys. What a treat. I’ll even be your only judge. Sorry.”

On cue (literally) the artists laughed, and Gerard clapped his hands. 

“So!” he said. “Today’s flash challenge is for you to show us your interpretation of your family. It has to include some portrait work--it doesn’t need to be photorealism, I promise--and we should be able to feel your emotion through the paint. You have two hours. Go!”

Pete plopped down onto the stool, dragging the canvas towards him and sticking the paintbrush between his teeth. He grabbed a pencil before surveying the canvas critically. 

Pete’s family was small. His parents kicked him out once they found out he was gay, so all he had left was Patrick and Brendon, much as Pete pretended to resent him. He drummed the pencil against the canvas for a minute before beginning to sketch. 

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, but he knew he wanted Patrick and Brendon in there. Brendon annoyed the shit out of Pete sometimes since that was his nature, but Pete was pretty attached to him. He squared off Patrick’s glasses before moving on to Brendon’s stupid hair. 

Sketch done, he mixed up the paint quickly, before deftly filling in the colors in strong strokes. He watched the painting come together with a tiny ache in his heart.

He missed home so badly sometimes. 

“Time’s up, losers,” Gerard called and Pete set his brush down with a sigh. Two hours had practically vanished. He stood with the rest of the artists and let some crew members take his painting and place it on an easel. “Let me tear apart your work.”

“Go, Gerard!” Hayley cheered, and Pete couldn’t help but laugh. Gerard gave her a thumbs up.

“Alright, Pete’s first,” Gerard said, and then whistled. “You have talent, Peter my man. Which one’s your boy?”

“The redhead,” Pete said, and Gerard winked. 

“Smokin’,” Gerard said, even though Pete was pretty sure it was for show. “How cute, you have a child together.”

“More like a ghost that continually haunts us,” Pete said. “But we love him anyway.”

“I can’t stop looking at this, dude,” Gerard said, and the honesty in his voice almost threw Pete for a loop. “Seriously. I keep finding new things to take in. I almost feel like crying. This is exactly what I meant when I said I wanted to feel the emotion through the paint. Great job, Pete.”

The other contestants--his _friends_ , Pete guessed--clapped for him and Pete swallowed. 

“Thank you,” he said, and Gerard nodded. 

“You should be proud,” Gerard said. “Hayley, who’s this?”

Pete wanted to listen, he honest to god wanted to listen, but he was looking at his own painting, instead, tracing over his portrait of Patrick like it was the real thing. His painting wasn’t nearly as gorgeous as Patrick was in real life, with his perpetually-pink cheeks and hats crammed onto his head. 

Pete missed him. Pete missed him _so badly_. He missed coming home from the shop every day to hear Patrick singing as he cooked, or hearing Patrick mess around with melodies and notes for another Soul Punk Studios commission. He even missed Brendon, constantly underfoot, hearing his compositions and his thesis every waking minute.

He almost, _almost_ wished he’d been sent home last week. It might have been worth it to tangle his fingers in Patrick’s hair and bury his face in Patrick’s neck. He wanted to tease Brendon mercilessly while worrying about him walking to De Paul in the high snow all at the same time. 

The competition was a lifechanger, but Pete missed home so much it hurt. 

“All your guy’s paintings were great,” Gerard said. “I can tell how much you miss your families. Unfortunately, there can only be one winner of this flash challenge and one winner of the five grand, and that winner is Pete.”

“You’re _joking,_ ” Pete said, and the others laughed, Hayley clapping. 

“Nope,” Gerard said. “It’s all you, my dude. I’m half in love with your boyfriend, though. Just a warning.”

Gerard gave him a look that Pete immediately understood to be solidarity, and he felt warmed by it. 

“Thanks,” Pete said. 

“About time you win a flash challenge, Mr. Record Holder,” Andy said, punching Pete’s shoulder. Pete just grinned. 

Yeah, his luck was definitely changing.

\---

Pete couldn’t believe he was here.

Even now, with just two ink challenges to go before the final, Pete could still hardly believe he’d lasted this long. Patrick had all the faith in the world Pete might actually win, and he had since the beginning, and now Pete kind of saw his point.

 _Told you,_ Patrick had replied when Pete had texted him this basically verbatim. He was the worst boyfriend ever, but Pete adored him. 

He knew the bare minimum about their challenge this week. The other three complained about it, but Pete actually preferred going into the challenge with a blank slate. It was how he’d won a record five ink challenges, and he wasn’t one to mess with good luck or whatever. 

He frowned down at his phone as he shifted from leg to leg. He’d texted Patrick to tell him he’d won his first flash challenge, so Patrick was gonna be able to get the new guitar he wanted, but Patrick hadn’t replied. It was unlike him. Pete was pretty sure Patrick didn’t have lessons today, but maybe he’d picked one up. Or Brendon had monopolized his time with his thesis again. 

_babe,_ he texted, tongue between his teeth. _answr me. im very needy_

Nothing. Pete scowled. 

“Artists,” the producer called. “We’re filming in five.”

A chorus of affirmations followed that, and Pete wandered over to his fellow contestants. Unfortunately for everyone that loved arguing on reality shows, they were all fairly fond of each other. Pete chalked it up to respect for each other’s artistry. The producer lamented that it was boring without fighting, but the show had its best ratings since the premier so it wasn’t like he could change it. 

“We ready to bet?” Travie asked as Pete approached. He slid his oversized sunglasses off his head. 

“I’ll win,” Hayley said, snapping her gum. It was probably true. 

“Final four,” Andy mused. “It’s gotta be something difficult.”

“More difficult than abstract week?” Pete asked doubtfully. 

“We haven’t had difficult clients yet,” Hayley said. “Well.”

Pete rolled his eyes. 

“If they give us problem clients on purpose, I’ll walk out,” Travie threatened. 

“I just hope it’s not photorealism or you’ll be kissing me goodbye,” Andy said.

“Nobody wants to kiss you,” Travie snorted. 

“My husband does,” Andy countered. 

“Listen,” Travie said. “I still don’t think it’s fair. Look at me. I am the ideal man. And I can’t get a lady, but you hooked a 10/10 dude in high school and kept him. What the fuck.”

“I’m just happy to not be tied down like you and Pete,” Hayley said. “I am young, wild, and free.”

“And 23,” Travie added, and Hayley smacked him. 

“Artists line up!” the producer shouted, the microphone emitting an awful shriek of feedback. Pete rolled his shoulders.

Here went nothing. 

\---

As usual, it took about three years from the artists lining up to _action!_ being called. The producer would shout at them if they joked around with each other while they waited endlessly, so it was mostly shifting from one foot to another, trying to breathe, and trying not to think about the challenge coming up. Hayley was right. It probably would be difficult. 

He still didn't know what it was but he tried to prepare himself nonetheless. 

“Bet it’s photorealism,” Andy said mournfully. 

“Quiet on set,” the producer barked. Pete really should know the dude’s name by now. 

The countdown to action began and Pete rolled his shoulders. He could do this. Whatever it was, he could do this. 

_Action!_

“Artists,” Gerard, the host, said, coming around the corner. Of course, Joe Capobianco was in tow. “I bet after Pete crushing y'all in the flash challenge, you're wondering what we have up our sleeves.”

They all obediently mumbled _yes._

“We’re sticking with the theme of family,” Gerard said, clapping his hands together. “In a very intimate way.”

Pete glanced at Andy and mouthed _photorealism_ at him, making him scowl. 

“These four skins have really important stories to tell,” Gerard said. “And I have a feeling you will connect with all of them. This time, you don’t get to see them until we tell you whose is whose. Skin number one is Andy’s. Andy, this skin has a husband who he’s proud of every day. He says that people never thought they would make it, since they’re polar opposites. He wants something to represent how opposites attract.”

Andy grinned. Pete could tell Andy liked the story, and when Andy liked the story, he _killed_ the tattoo. 

“Hayley,” Gerard continued. “Your skin never got along with her sister. She always found it hard to see eye-to-eye with her sister, because she felt misunderstood. Their relationship has vastly improved and she wants a tattoo about mending bridges.”

“Wicked,” Hayley said, and Pete could tell she meant it.

“Travie, your skin had a tough upbringing with her brother,” Gerard said. “Their parents died and she felt responsible for raising her brother, even after they were adopted. They’ve been close ever since. She wants something to represent moving past hard times.”

Travie nodded, but Pete bet he was trying to avoid sounding choked up. He rolled his shoulders again.

“Finally, Pete,” Gerard said, turning to him with a grin. “Your skin has never had a tattoo before--congrats. His is an interesting story, too. He said he and his boyfriend met at a really bad time in each other’s lives. They were both suicidal. They should have never worked out, but somehow they did. He says he’s never been happier in his entire life. He wants his first tattoo to be about the man that basically saved him from himself.”

Pete wanted to cry a little. That sounded so much like Patrick that Pete almost wanted to quit the show and go home just to be with him again. Fuck, he missed Patrick so much.

“Your skins are waiting for you in the studio,” Gerard said. “You have four hours for a consultation.”

They all looked at each other. Four hours? _Four?_ Usually, they were lucky to get a full hour for consultation. _Four_ hours?

“Four hours starts right now,” Gerard announced, and Pete knew he didn’t need any more invitation than that, no matter how weird it was. He grabbed his sketchbook from the lounge chair and followed Andy, basically on his heels, into the studio. 

“Oh, my god,” Andy said, stopping dead. Pete ran into him and scowled. “Joe.”

“Joe?” Hayley asked, coming up behind Andy.

“My _husband_ ,” Andy said, and practically bolted into the studio. Pete watched him go, gaping a little. Andy threw his arms around a tall guy who was almost as tatted at Andy was, with curly dark hair. Pete grinned. 

Who knew Andy’s mystery skin was his husband? 

He sighed before turning to his station, wondering what tattoo virgin he was going to get. He was just about to send a silent prayer for someone with a high pain tolerance when all the thoughts in his head came to a grinding halt.

Leaning against the counter in Pete’s stall, arms crossed the way he did whenever he was nervous, was Patrick. His Patrick. The Patrick he hadn’t seen in over two months, who hadn’t replied to any texts today, probably because he was on an _airplane--_

He was across the room and pulling Patrick into his arms before he really thought about it. Patrick laughed against Pete’s mouth as Pete tried to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“Patrick,” he breathed, and Patrick kissed him properly. For a moment, Pete forgot about everything. He didn’t think about the show or the cameras or the competition or his art--all he could think about was Patrick. The love of his fucking life was right in front of him, had flown from Chicago to LA to _get tattooed by him_. Pete could cry.

“Hi,” Patrick whispered. Pete vaguely registered that there were people around him, and those people were other contestants and the camera crew, but he didn’t care. He wanted to look at Patrick all day.

“You’re really here,” Pete whispered, and Patrick grinned. 

“I’m really here,” he confirmed. He was still in Pete’s arms. Pete bet he was going to have a hard time letting Patrick go. “You gonna tattoo me or what?”

“I can’t believe you’re getting a tattoo,” Pete whispered, before kissing Patrick again. 

“From you,” Patrick pointed out. “I’d only get one from you.”

Pete beamed and took Patrick’s hand. 

“Tell me what you want,” he said, and Patrick nodded. 

\----

“This is going to hurt,” Pete warned. He had his gloves on and all his shit out and he was eyeing the design on the inside of Patrick’s upper arm. It looked great already. Pete’s heart kind of twisted thinking about it--he’d never had anyone so committed to him that they would do this for him. 

Patrick snorted and nudged Pete with his toe. 

“I know,” he said, before winking. “You gonna tattoo me or not?”

Pete rolled his eyes before kissing Patrick gently. 

“Alright artists,” Gerard practically bellowed. “Hope you’re still on good terms with your loved ones. It’s time to go, my dudes. You got five hours starting now!”

Pete picked up his tattoo machine and met Patrick’s eyes.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Patrick whispered, lips quirking, and Pete grinned back. 

His hands weren’t shaking--he’d hardly be one of the top tattoo artists in the country if they shook for any reason-- but he did feel slightly nauseous. This wasn’t just any skin. If Patrick didn’t like this, Pete couldn’t brush it off. It had to be good. 

“Keep breathing,” Pete said, the same thing he said to every client, and dipped the needle in the ink. Before he could overthink it further, he steadied Patrick’s arm with one hand and began outlining with the other. 

Patrick winced a little, but Pete forced himself not to stop, knowing it would only hurt more if he did. 

“I’m fine,” Patrick said, because he could read Pete’s mind. “Just surprised me. Doesn’t hurt that bad.”

Pete flashed him a small grin and continued.

Outlining was fairly tedious, despite how important it was. Pete liked to be quick but accurate--the less time he spent outlining, the more time he could spend on color, which is what really mattered. Pete carefully curved over the compass aspect.

“Why’d you do this?” Pete asked quietly. Patrick smiled, pulling on the chain that held the ring Pete gave him with the arm Pete didn’t have pinned down. Patrick couldn’t wear rings since he played guitar for work, but he kept it close anyway. 

“Because I love you,” Patrick said, a gentle teasing note in his voice. Pete stuck his tongue out at him and Patrick laughed. 

“I love you, too,” Pete said. “But if you don’t tell me, I might die.”

“Because,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. “Every piece of art you’ve ever done for me is my favorite. You give me art for everything, even for tiny reasons. So I figured I could get you to give me another piece of art. Something I could look at any time and think about you.”

Pete pulled the tattoo machine away for a moment in order to kiss Patrick hard. Patrick grinned fondly as Pete pulled away, eyes bright. 

“Disgusting,” Pete managed, and Patrick laughed again. “I’m gonna start color, okay?”

“Kay,” Patrick said. He played with the ring for a moment before continuing. “Brendon’s gonna lose his mind.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Pete asked, and Patrick shook his head. 

“Didn’t want his batshit opinions,” Patrick said, but his voice was fond. “I wanted you to be the first to know. And to, you know, do it.”

“You know, when they were telling us the stories,” Pete said. “Without telling us you were here, I heard yours and I wanted to drop out of the competition and come home.”

“If you lose after giving me my first tattoo, I’m divorcing you,” Patrick threatened. 

“You have to marry me in order to divorce me,” Pete pointed out, finishing one of the flowers. Patrick quirked an eyebrow. 

“Win and I will,” Patrick said. Pete looked up at him.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Pete said, voice thick, and Patrick reached up to brush Pete’s “stupid, stupid” hair back with a soft smile. 

“Only if you win,” Patrick teased, but his look spoke volumes. It said _yes._ Pete felt his heart flutter and he grabbed Patrick’s free hand with his own free hand and kissed it. 

“I better win then,” Pete said, and Patrick grinned. 

\----

The tattoo was gorgeous. Pete usually downplayed his work, but the tattoo was genuinely one of his best. 

It didn’t hurt that it was Patrick who wore it. 

Pete seriously thought about texting aftercare instructions to Patrick later in favor of kissing him until he passed out, worried Patrick would be whisked away the second the cameras stopped. He didn’t actually have to worry about it, though, because the producer had barely said _you have until tomorrow with your families_ before they’d all cheered and beat it. 

So Pete halfheartedly talked about what Patrick should do with the tattoo until Patrick interrupted him. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “I’ve heard it a billion times from you. Shut up and come here.”

Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand and practically dragged him into his hotel room, kicking the mess Patrick would probably make fun of later out of the way in order to push Patrick down onto the bed. 

Patrick kissed him like he might die if he had to stop, and Pete wasn’t inclined to stop. His hands roamed everywhere, removing every piece of clothing he touched, and Patrick rucked up his shirt and practically tore it off. Pete groaned as Patrick mouthed across his chest piece and tangled his fingers in Patrick’s hair. 

Patrick didn’t even give him a stink eye for that. The wonders never ceased. Instead, he kissed Pete again, a little desperately, and Pete wanted him so badly it almost hurt. 

Pete really, _really_ wanted to be inside Patrick, preferably immediately, but he honestly didn’t think he’d last through prep. He licked up his hand, instead, making Patrick giggle breathlessly, and took both their cocks into his hand. 

Patrick moaned, arching up a little. Pete shamelessly sucked a mark into Patrick’s neck, dark, like Patrick usually yelled at him for. Patrick moaned again, tangling his hands in Pete’s hair and pulling until Pete practically growled.

He wanted to get a good rhythm going, wanted it to be good, but it had been far, far too long without Patrick. He tensed up, gasped a little into Patrick’s shoulder, before coming. 

“Teenager,” Patrick accused, before immediately coming, too. Pete kissed Patrick softly, trying to avoid panting into his mouth, but it was a lost cause. Patrick didn’t seem to mind, kissing him back. He cupped Pete’s face, until, with great effort, Pete rolled off Patrick. 

Patrick grinned at him before glancing down at his tattoo, turning his arm to get a better look. 

“It’s gorgeous,” he said quietly, and Pete blinked back tears. 

“Would you really marry me?” Pete asked, voice thick, and Patrick kissed him. 

“Yes,” he said. Pete kissed him hard. “Yes. One hundred percent. Let me be your husband, Pete Wentz.”

Pete grinned, cupping Patrick’s face and swiping a thumb across his high cheekbones. 

“I better win, then,” he said, and Patrick laughed even as Pete tried to kiss him. 

He really had better win.

\----

The final.

The final, the final, the final. 

Pete was damn sorry to see Hayley and Travie go, but now it was down to him and Andy fighting for the 100,000. It was so close Pete could taste it, so close he could actually imagine winning it all. 

It was a good image.

His mind was racing, trying to come up with what could possibly be the final challenge. It could be anything. With this show, they threw curveballs after curveballs at them, so Pete knew whatever he guessed could be way off.

Andy hadn’t said much since they’d met in the shop. It was a wild commotion around them; the producer was shouting instructions at the camera operators and hair and makeup were working on Gerard and Joe Capobianco. Everything was loud and abrasive around them, but it was almost as if everyone had forgotten about the finalists.

Which was actually fine by Pete. He was currently so nervous he felt like puking, and one look at Andy’s usually stoic face told Pete it was just as bad for him. Pete cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, shifting from foot to foot and trying to remember all the dumb breathing exercises Patrick did before he recorded. It didn’t do much for his hammering heart, but it was worth a shot.

“We’re going in three, two, one--action!” the producer shouted, and Pete took a deep breath. 

“Pete and Andy,” Gerard said. “You made it. You know whoever wins between you two makes Best Ink history, right?”

“Looking forward to it,” Pete managed, and Andy grinned at him before extending a hand for Pete to shake. 

“Love the camaraderie,” Joe said. “But it’s time to get down to business. It’s time for the final challenge.”

Pete nodded, rolling his shoulders again. 

“This final ink challenge will work a little differently,” Gerard said. “You’re going to consult with your skins and perfect your designs today, and tomorrow you will put the finished drawing to skin. And since you two have established yourself as the best of the best, it’s only fitting that we give you a challenge fit for the best. This challenge is a full chest piece.”

Aw, fuck. 

Chest pieces sucked, both for the client and the artist, and Pete knew that firsthand. They hurt, and it was common for skins to quit before they were finished. It was a difficult area, right over bone, and the design absolutely had to be symmetrical. 

“One more thing,” Gerard said. “They’re both tattoo virgins.”

Double fuck. 

Pete was lucky Patrick sat like a fucking rock. That was not common, especially doing a chest piece. They weren’t fucking around with the finale, that was for damn sure. 

“Ready to meet your skins?” Gerard asked, and Pete nodded because he had no other choice. Quitting was not even a thought. 

From behind Gerard and Joe, Pete watched the two skins walk in. It was a girl and a guy and they were holding hands. Oh, God.

Gerard laughed. 

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that these two are a couple,” Gerard said. “A just married couple, in fact. And they want two chest pieces about their life together. You two are absolutely not allowed to collaborate. You each need to give them two unique pieces. Ready?”

Pete nodded again. He had to. 

“Andy, this is Matt,” Gerard introduced. “And Pete, this is Audrey. Go wow them.”

Pete took a deep breath. 

\----

Audrey was a genuinely wonderful person, absolutely nothing like the last woman he’d tattooed. Pete would love to forget the entirety of Ashlee’s existence, and Audrey was a walking miracle who helped him do just that. 

Pete almost forgot it was the finale as he talked with her, almost forgot about everything. It was like she was another client back home.

“I really like bears,” Audrey said, and Pete cracked a grin.

“I’m kinkshaming,” he said, and Audrey laughed. “No, really, I think you guys are sweet. Congrats on the marriage.”

“Are you married?” Audrey asked, and Pete grinned. 

“No,” he said. “But my boyfriend said he’d marry me if I won.”

He was so caught up in the conversation and the excitement that always accompanied a totally custom piece, that he had forgotten the whole gay issue. He sort of froze, breath catching, but Audrey just grinned. 

“You’re just going to have to win, then,” she said, and Pete had to grin back. He reached for his sketchbook, flipping to a blank page and taking his pencil out from behind his ear. 

“I have an idea,” he said, and began to draw.

\----

“I’m so excited,” Audrey said, and Pete held out a fist for her to bump. “I’m so in love with your art. Can you do all my tattoos?”

“I haven’t even done this one yet,” Pete snorted. Audrey shrugged. 

“Still,” she said. 

“Alright Pete and Andy,” Gerard said. “It’s time to get going. You have five hours to complete your chest piece.”

Five hours was nothing. But Pete could do this. He could. If only so Patrick would marry him. 

“On your mark,” Gerard said. Pete picked up his tattoo machine. “Get set. Go!”

“Ready?” Pete asked, and Audrey gave him a thumbs up. “Okay.”

Pete took a deep breath and began the outline. He knew five hours would go faster than he’d like, so he loosely split up his time in his head. There were roughly four parts to the tattoo, so he figured each part got an hour, then he would have an hour for touch ups and going back into places. 

He was halfway done with the first section when Audrey spoke, carefully, like she was worried about disrupting Pete. Pete appreciated it. 

“So is your almost-husband a tattoo artist, too?” she asked, and Pete laughed. 

“Not quite an almost husband,” he said. “I haven’t won yet.”

“You will,” Audrey said. “Matt’s a baby.”

“I’m telling him you said that,” Pete said. “No. He’s a musician. He opened up a recording studio and does commissions for artists, movies, video games, stuff like that. He honest to god plays every instrument known to man. And sings.”

“I love me some multi-talented boys,” Audrey sighed. “Where are you from?”

“Chicago,” Pete said, and Audrey lit up. 

“No _way_ ,” she said excitedly. “Me too!”

“Dude,” Pete said. “I knew you were cool for a reason.”

“Chicago is the best place in the entire world,” Audrey said firmly. “I will not tolerate any kind of slander.”

“You won’t hear any from me,” Pete laughed. “How you feeling? I’m about halfway done.”

“Fine,” Audrey said. “You gotta tell me more about your boyfriend. I’m a sucker for a good romance.”

Pete laughed. 

“We’ve been together for almost five years,” Pete said. He felt his heart go mushy and soft, the same exact way it did every time he thought about Patrick. He was sure he had a sappy expression on his face on top of it all. “He’s like my whole world. And I really mean that, I’m not just saying that cause this camera is going to broadcast that to the whole world.”

The camera guy snorted. 

“He’s just,” Pete began, trying to find words. “He’s just the best thing that ever happened to me. I honestly wouldn’t be where I am without him.”

“That’s so sweet,” Audrey said softly. 

“I love him so much,” Pete said. “I’ve wanted to marry him since our second date.”

“Oh my god,” Audrey said. “Can’t wait until he hears that.”

“Pretty sure he already knows that,” Pete joked. “I’m not very subtle.”

“You gotta win,” Audrey said. “And not just because I want to have the hundred thousand dollar tattoo.”

“Well, since you put it that way,” Pete laughed.

\----

Pete and Andy barely had time to shovel food in their mouths before the judging. Pete almost didn’t care if he won--Audrey’s tattoo turned out gorgeous and Pete was really proud of it.

But he wanted the money, the title, and the husband, so that was just an almost. 

Pete and Andy downed like, an entire thing of catered spaghetti, eyes locked on their phones. Pete was reading the string of text messages Patrick sent him like they were the only thing that would calm him down. 

They all said variations on the same thing, but Pete clung to them anyway.

_I love you. You’re going to win. I love you even if you don’t. I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. I love you._

“No matter who wins,” Andy said, tearing his eyes away from his phone where Pete assumed similar texts from Joe were waiting for him. “I respect you so much, dude. We have to guest at each others shops.”

“Fuck yes,” Pete said emphatically. “I could not ask for someone better to lose to.”

“Same here,” Andy said. “And I really enjoyed meeting Patrick. Invite me to your wedding.”

“Duh,” Pete said, and they grinned at each other.

Now they were side by side in the judging room, facing Joe, Sabina, and Hannah. The judges’ faces were impassive, as usual. Pete took a deep breath and bumped shoulders with Andy. 

“Andy, Pete,” Gerard said. “The judges have had time to review your work. Let’s hear what they have to say before they reveal the winner of Best Ink, the hundred thousand dollars, and the cover of _Tattoo Magazine.”_

Pete swallowed. 

“Andy,” Gerard said. “Your skin was one half of the newlywed couple. You did a chest piece for him that symbolized his love for his new wife.”

“Andy, this is a great tattoo,” Joe said. “But I expect great from you. You’re a finalist. We’ve got to move beyond great. That being said, I think you nailed it.”

Pete glanced at the screen. It was his first time seeing Andy’s tattoo, and he immediately felt his heart sink.

Shit. Andy’s tattoo was really fucking good. 

“I know he didn’t sit well, and you can tell in a few places,” Hannah said. Pete had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t see a single blowout anywhere. “I love how you snuck the date in there. It’s not slap-in-the-face obvious, which would have seriously detracted from the piece. The banner is gorgeous.”

“It’s abstract, but not so much that you can’t tell what the piece is trying to communicate,” Sabina said. “I love the tree. It’s absolutely killer.”

“Thank you very much,” Andy said. His voice was soft. Pete knew he was usually soft spoken but he sounded extra quiet. Maybe he was just as nervous as Pete.

“Pete,” Gerard said. “You had the other half. Let’s hear what the judges have to say.”

“Pete,” Joe said. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: nothing can top the tattoo you gave your boyfriend. But this comes damn close. Every time I think I’ve seen the best out of you, you go and surprise me again.”

Pete’s tattoo on the screen made Pete feel a tad better. It did look good, better than his anxiety remembered it being at the moment. He took a deep breath.

“You did a full chest piece but managed to keep it proportional,” Sabina said. “You clearly know how to place tattoos on different bodies. Most artists would have just done the tits too, whatever, but you were smart about it.”

“I love the layout,” Hannah added. “I love the flow of the piece and the detail you managed to cram into it. The flowers are downright breathtaking, I love them. Actually, I just love this whole thing.”

“Thank you,” Pete managed. “Thank you so much.”

“Judges,” Gerard said. “Have you reached a decision?”

As if they hadn’t. Pete knew they knew, knew they had known since the first pictures, but his stomach twisted anyway. 

“We have,” Sabina said. 

“Pete, Andy,” Joe said. “I can’t think of two better people to be at the top. Either one of you could make history and honestly, it’s about time. Both your bodies of work speak for themselves--you are truly the very best of the best. If I could give the prize to both of you, I would.”

“You both should be very proud of yourselves,” Hannah said. “Neither of you should consider this a loss. But we do have to announce a winner. After a lot of deliberation and consideration of both your talents and achievements during this competition, we have picked a winner. And the winner of the title of Best Ink, the hundred thousand dollars, and the cover of _Tattoo Magazine_ is….Pete.”

Pete thought he was going to pass the fuck out. He was sort of frozen, his momentary paralysis broken when Andy yanked him into a hug. 

“Congrats, dude,” Andy whispered.

“Oh, my God,” Pete said. “Is this real?”

“Hell yeah,” Andy said. He was grinning. Pete felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Oh my God,” Pete said again, facing the judges. “Thank you. Thank you so damn much.”

“You work is excellent,” Sabina said. “You’re going to be very busy for a very long time.”

“Thank you,” Pete said again, because he was apparently unable to respond any other way.

“What are you going to do now that you’ve won?” Hannah asked. 

“My boyfriend said he would marry me if I did,” Pete said, voice cracking. 

“Go on,” Sabina said. There was a glint in her eye. “You better ask.”

“Right now?” Pete asked in surprise. 

“Right now,” Andy replied, nudging Pete. 

Joe nodded at Pete’s questioning glance, so Pete pulled his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands. 

“On speaker,” Hannah teased. “You can’t deprive us of this. We can change our minds.”

Pete cracked a grin. He stared down at Patrick’s contact photo and swallowed hard before hitting _call._

Three rings seemed endless. Pete’s heart was fucking hammering in his chest. 

“How’d it go, babe?” Patrick asked, and Pete took a deep breath. 

“Will you marry me?” he asked, and he was met with five endless seconds of dead silence.

“Did you win?” Patrick demanded, excitement in his voice. “Babe, oh my god, did you really win?”

“Is that a yes?” Pete managed, and Patrick cheered loudly.

“Yes, of course it’s a yes, oh my god!” he shouted, and the judges burst into applause. Pete was grinning couldn’t help it, couldn’t come close to stopping it. Patrick was congratulating him, over and over, mixed with constant _I love you_ ’s, and Pete took a deep breath.

He’d won.

He’d really won Best Ink. 

He had to get Patrick a new guitar. It would be a better engagement gift than a ring he couldn’t wear. 

\----

**Epilogue:**

Pete’s first day as a married man involved rolling over and kissing Patrick’s neck until he woke up grumbling. 

“Hello, husband,” he said softly, and said husband gave him a stink eye. 

“Just because I married your dumb ass doesn’t mean you get to wake me up at the crack of dawn,” Patrick muttered, but kissed Pete back. 

“But I have a present for you,” Pete whispered, and Patrick raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?” he asked, and Pete obnoxiously felt Patrick up under the covers. “We did that all _night!”_

“Come on,” Pete whispered, kissing Patrick again. “Let me show you.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes but took Pete’s hand and let him pull him out of bed. 

“Is my present pancakes?” Patrick asked. 

“No,” Pete said. “But I will make you pancakes if you want.”

Patrick grabbed Pete’s hand, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

“I love you,” Patrick said, and Pete grinned. 

“Love you, too,” he said, and hip checked the door to Patrick’s home studio open. “Observe your present.”

Patrick stopped dead. 

“Oh my god,” he said, somewhat faintly. “Is that--”

“The guitar you wanted?” Pete asked. “It is indeed. Congratulations on marrying me.”

“How did you _know?”_ Patrick asked, running his hand over it gingerly, like he was afraid it was a hologram or something. 

“You talk about it constantly, babe,” Pete said, amused. 

“Yes,” Patrick conceded. “But you got the _exact model_. You know nothing about guitars.”

“I may have had help,” Pete said. “But the important thing is that it’s here.”

“Remind me to thank Brendon later,” Patrick teased, but kissed Pete hard. “Thank you babe. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Pete whispered. “God, I’m so in love with you.”

He pulled Patrick into his arms, hands settling at Patrick’s hips, kissing him slowly, almost lazily. He couldn’t stop. Everytime he went to take a breath he remembered _husband_ and dove right back in again. 

Patrick didn’t seem to mind, cupping Pete’s face gently and kissing back. With what looked like enormous effort, Patrick pulled away.

“Wait,” he whispered, and Pete kissed him again. “No really, wait. I have to give you your present.”

“We said no wedding presents,” Pete said, and Patrick gave him a disbelieving look before slowly pointing to the guitar. “That was an _I love you_ gift.”

“This is an _I love you_ gift,” Patrick said, smirking. 

“Fine,” Pete said, and Patrick stuck his tongue out at him. “What is it?”

Patrick held out his arm, Pete’s tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of the ridiculous oversized shirt Patrick wore to bed. Pete looked from it to Patrick with what had to be a very confused look on his face. 

“Um,” he said, and Patrick rolled his eyes before kissing him gently. 

“Free reign,” Patrick said. “The whole arm is yours.”

“To tattoo?” Pete demanded, dumbfounded. “You don’t like tattoos.”

“I like your tattoos,” Patrick shrugged. “And I love you. So it’s yours. Mark me up, babe.”

“Are you serious?” Pete asked, and Patrick nodded. Pete kissed him hard before breaking away. “Well first I’m obviously doing a photorealistic dick.”

“You’re a jerk,” Patrick said, even as he began laughing. “I take it back.”

“Too late,” Pete said, and kissed Patrick again despite his laughter. 

Pete never thought he’d ever come close to having everything he ever wanted. But now, the proud title holder of _Best Ink_ and husband to the best person in the entire universe, he thought that maybe he finally had.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> i swear to god i meant for this to just be a stupid one shot for sunflashes idk what the fuck happened good god
> 
> find me lurking on the dark webs at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com


End file.
